


The Only Exception

by zetswbo



Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: F/M, Romance, The RRB have a garage band, The reds are so soft i can't, This is just a smooth one shot, University AU, Without powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:28:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetswbo/pseuds/zetswbo
Summary: At some point in my life, I became convinced that there is no place for me when it comes to these... romantic things. That's when I promised myself that I would never sing about love if it didn't exist. But looking at Blossom now... I don't know, I may seem crazy, but I'm starting to think that maybe that exists for me. Love. I'm still trying to find out.
Relationships: Brick/Blossom Utonium
Kudos: 11





	The Only Exception

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Welcome to The Only Exception.  
> The idea came to me while I was listening to a Paramore song, from the same title, and I used it as an inspiration to write. It's just a one-shot. It's simple and subtle, but I kind of liked the result and I hope you like it too.  
> Have a good reading. :)

**YOU ARE THE ONLY EXCEPTION**

ᅟᅟMy idle hands tremble at the guitar resting on my legs. I tap my foot on the floor in a frantic rhythm as I nibble on my own lower lip, and it's not long before I can feel the metallic taste of blood on the tip of my tongue - the result of a superficial cut in my mouth.  
  
ᅟᅟYeah, I'm used to it. It happens often, especially on nights like this, when the house is full and I feel like all the air in my lungs has escaped at once - just like a balloon. I try to stay calm. I close my eyes as I allow myself to tip my head back. My mouth opens and a heavy breath of air escapes through it, all sounds are nothing but muffled noises to me. An uncomfortable hiss in the most depressing corners of my mind.  
  
ᅟᅟPerhaps, not so uncomfortable. Talking about it turns my attention away from the real problem, and I'm suddenly grateful to be the kind of guy who is easily distracted. So, I don't think so much. I don't think about it. I don't think about them. I don't think about myself.  
  
ᅟᅟHeavy steps, distant conversations, screams of order, tests with the microphone. Eugene's bar has always been a complete mess and the old man seems to find some comfort in this chaotic area, but the audience has increased since the band started to gain more attention. I must thank Robin for that, because if it weren't for her frequent recordings and uploads on all possible streaming platforms, I wouldn't be here. Maybe I was at home, watching any bad movies with my brothers and ignoring the messages on my phone. But, no. The money that comes in is being good and helping, to the point of making me ignore the rampant beating of my heart, shortness of breath, dry mouth.  
  
ᅟᅟI feel suddenly tired. Everyone calls me lazy for that, for spending too much time lying down and yet always complaining about not being willing. The truth is that I don't always sleep when I close my eyes. When I realize, Boomer is sitting next to me. He hands me a glass of water and I move the guitar away, supporting it on the stand before start drinking. It's refreshing, I admit mentally, even though it's not completely cold. Boomer knows that it's not good to drink very cold things before going on stage, even if the singer is him. And I? Just a mediocre and ordinary guitar player. I have nothing special but the ability to strum the strings. My father taught me when I was younger. The memories are still fresh in my mind. Artful memories. I can't just lock them up somewhere.  
  
ᅟᅟ— Do you feel better? – He asks, and I just nod my head. Boomer knows I'm lying, but he just ignores it and lets me finish the water at once. – There aren't that many people, you don't have to worry.  
  
ᅟᅟI scratch the back of my neck before sliding my fingers across the tattoo on my right forearm. I feel the texture on my skin. An ugly burn covered by an incredible design. I close my eyes and allow myself to take another deep breath when the image of the fine needle piercing my skin millions of times invades my mind, and the black ink that is now stamped forever on my skin also covers my foggy thoughts.  
  
ᅟᅟ— I'm okay. – I mutter, even though I know I'm not. My chest still hurts from the unrestrained heartbeat and I still have my breath out of breath.  
  
ᅟᅟI keep my eyes closed, so I don't know if Boomer gave up on me and left, or if he's still sitting next to me while looking for the right words. On the other hand, I don't have much time to think about it, because I hear Sarah calling us. I open my eyes, staring at her just a few steps from the old leather couch Boomer and I are slumped on. Mr. Bellum smiles at us, her smile is sweet and warm. I end up smiling back, more out of consideration for her ever-present kindness, than willingness.  
  
ᅟᅟSarah has always helped the old man to manage things at the bar, since he left work at the city's hydroelectric plant to build this joint. It also serves to calm me down now and then when I feel nervous before each show. In any case, not everyone has her sympathy and kindness. Eugene's beautiful wife is a real demon when she wants to, or when she thinks it's necessary.  
  
ᅟᅟLeaving that aside, I get up and pull my guitar with me. I wind the rope around my shoulders while I notice Butch, the " _s_ _uper muscular"_ drummer approaching. Another idiot, looking from a brother's point of view. Butch... He's my brother and I know he's an idiot, but some people are scared of him.   
  
ᅟᅟButch pats me on the shoulder and I just nod back, not in the mood to counter his jokes. We cross the stage, Butch nods to the women in the audience like a hooligan and Boomer smiles convinced at the velvety presentation that Sarah gives us. I'm content to plug the guitar into the amplifier. And that would be it. We would play about five or six songs, we would take a short break, more songs and the night would end there. We're a garage band, we don't have our own songs, no matter how much my notebook is full of lyrics. So, ten songs and a break is enough for each show.  
  
ᅟᅟIt would be just that. It should be just that. But Boomer nudges my ribs discreetly with his elbow as I adjust the amplifier. I lift my chin to him, however, he doesn't say anything, he just nods somewhere in the bar. I follow his direction with my eyes and feel my heart skip a beat. Her hair falls over her shoulders, the waves are a funny and adorable novelty. I still remember her perfume. It was impregnated in my clothes and in my memory when we hugged for the last time, in an awkward way when we said goodbye before her classes started. The bar's half-light falls well on Blossom, who seems distracted enough while chatting with her father and sisters. She laughs. Her eyes close when her cheeks lift, and I swear this is one of the most adorable things about her. Her eyes. Her smile. Her chicks.  
  
ᅟᅟI also don't quite know how to describe it. Blossom is incredible. Was always. I like the way she always runs away from the ordinary, and how she ends up talking too much when she gets excited about a subject. She's a student in the social sciences course and gives free writing classes to elementary school children and high school teenagers, and that's how I met her. Blossom was helping Boomer, the youngest of the family, who simply couldn't write an essay worthy of a good grade or simply write the right words. I didn't have time to teach him, all of my free time was spent at school and at work. Butch... wasn't good at teaching anyone.  
  
ᅟᅟI admit I was nervous when I saw her sitting at my dinner table after Boomer invited her over for the night. He said that Blossom could be tired because he was stubborn, and then she laughed and accepted. Her laugh is the most beautiful song I've ever heard. It's been three years now, Boomer managed to get a B + in his essay and Blossom and I always met on campus.  
  
ᅟᅟSuddenly, Bubbles calls her with her hand and she approaches, then she whispers something in Blossom's ear. I understand the reason in the next second, when her eyes roam the stage and stop on me. Another smile touches her lips and I feel myself blush; a feverish sensation running down my face to my ears. I try to smile back, but I end up giving only an embarrassed smile and a shy nod.  
  
ᅟᅟThe feeling of euphoria only grows in my chest when I hear the screams of those who were there to hear us play. I feel short of breath, but I look at Blossom again and she still has her eyes on me. Her eyes are always so clear that they're unusual. She seems to try to encourage me, but I just swallow and pull the sleeves of the red flannel jacket up. I feel the tattoo tingle, as if I just did it. It feels familiar, however.  
  
ᅟᅟ— Hey, Boom. – I call him while he adjusts the height of his microphone. He looks at me, saying nothing, and I take that as a loophole to continue. I feel frantic. That feverish feeling rising. – Can we exchange Love Will Tear Us Apart for... _That song_?  
  
ᅟᅟHe blinks a few times, looking static for a moment. He knows what I'm talking about. Take On Me is my favorite song ever, and although Boomer has never seen me sing, it has caught me risking some notes in the garage, or in my room whose walls are covered with A-ha posters. He knows why. However, he quickly understands when he looks at Blossom.  
  
ᅟᅟ— Oh... Yeah, sure, Big Bro... I'm going to talk to Butch. – He smiles at me, simple, but I just agree and watch him walk away.  
  
ᅟᅟI go back to my place. Blossom still looks at me and continued like that while we played the first song. And the second, and the third... _And for the rest of the night._  
  
ᅟᅟAt some point in my life, I became convinced that there is no place for me in what encompasses these... romantic things. That's when I promised myself that I would never sing about love if it didn't exist. That night, on the other hand, all the romantic songs I dedicated to Blossom and her smile. And like her, I didn't look away for a second.  
  
ᅟᅟMaybe he exists for me. Love. I'm still on my way to find out.  
  
ᅟ

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for your time and willingness to read. If you feel comfortable, leave a comment. :)  
> I hope you enjoyed it and see you next time!


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